


Red Dawns and Rainy Evenings

by Miss_Von_Cheese



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Romance, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:54:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27594422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Von_Cheese/pseuds/Miss_Von_Cheese
Summary: "You pity the man who dies tomorrow," Faramir said in a tone infected by bitterness."And how would I know if I do?" Pippin shrugged, only slightly moving to place his fingertips over Faramir's nape. "I see no man who will die soon. I only know I treasure the knight in my arms who will fight and survive, and live to tell the tales of his successes."
Relationships: Faramir (Son of Denethor II)/Pippin Took, Merry Brandybuck/Pippin Took, Merry Brandybuck/Éowyn, Éowyn/Faramir (Son of Denethor II)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok I feel like I have to warn readers that English is not my first language so I don't master the 'Tolkien style' writing, still I hope you'll enjoy this and a Faramir/Pippin fandom will rise.

Whether thunder would soon break the skies and let rain pour over Gondor was uncertain but the atmosphere in his room was heavy like a brewing storm. He took a book, placed it on another shelf, nervously held it against his chest before he set it down on the desk. Tending to his beloved books and scrolls felt like taking care of his pets. His imminent departure to Osgiliath appeared as abandonment and betrayal to his dear parchment friends. 

Oh, but the books did not and would not care, if Faramir's life ended there, and he could not blame them for not valuing him, nobody did anyways! Who would think about him once his body would be nothing but remains in a corner of the Orcs feast hall? Who would even spare him a thought now that Boromir of all men had passed, a glorious and bitter death? 

Now at the dawn of his existence, after no more than thirty seven joyless summers, Faramir realized how all of his books, stories, and epic tales, had failed to replace the warmth of sincere emotional bonds in his life. With a trembling sigh, the young man turned to his desk and tried to organize his thoughts as much as his paralyzing fear allowed it. 

A soft sound came from the corridors, causing his heart to grow cold with terror. Hearing his father walk around never ceased to turn him into a trembling prey afraid of every noise, every potential predator. His fingers tightened on the leather of his book's cover. He begged for peace to the night herself, he did not need any more humiliation til the morrow. Five soft knocks on his door, playing a joyful rhythm, instantly soothed his panic. 

Faramir crossed the distance in a swift motion, happy as he used to be when Boromir snuck to his bedroom as a child. Behind the heavy door, as usual, his eyes had to travel far down to meet his guest's. 

A shadow darkened Pippin's playful look on this unusual evening but the Hobbit seemed determined to smile through the darkness of what would probably be their last late night conversation. 

''Master Peregrin,'' Faramir smiled in relief as he opened the door and took a step back to invite him in, not noticing the fondness in his own voice. 

Pippin trotted inside the room with a grin. "My Lord Faramir…" 

Unlike their previous encounters, which were filled for both of them with the comfort of having found a gentle soul to share tea with, they felt tense and unsure. Pippin took a deep breath, let his gaze linger from the tip of Faramir's head to his toes, then let out a deep sigh of content as if the vision brought him joy. Faramir could easily understand why as the poor hobbit had not had many good examples of Gondorian hospitality so far.

He gestured towards the modest wooden chairs that served as seats, as he would if he ever had any guests in his bedroom, which he obviously did not, but Pippin walked to the bed instead and jumped on it with less enthusiasm than usual. He spread his limbs all over the mattress like a cat trying to roll in his human's scent then sat with his legs crossed, large feet forming a funny contrast with his small frame. The silence was thick, their connection from the previous days shadowed by the thoughts of morning to come. 

"Will you tell me of Gondor again?" Pippin smiled to engage conversation. 

Faramir shrugged. "I was hoping you could tell me about the Shire the time, that beautiful country who birthed such gentle soul." 

To Faramir's surprise, his words brought pink and red hues to his friend's cheeks, so bright he wondered for a second if he had been inappropriate. He sat down on his bed next to Pippin who could not look away. 

"Are you alright… my friend?" The steward's son asked again, worried for a second. 

Pippin swallowed a heavy lump in his throat, nodded before tears sparkled in his eyes and he choked a small "No. I think I am not." 

Faramir bit his lower lip to refrain from bursting into tears, he was pathetic enough, he did not need to look weaker. Yet he could not find words of hope in this very moment and just nodded as well.

"Neither am I… please, would you tell me about your land, Peregrin?"

Pippin nodded hastily as he scooted on the bed until his back rested against the wall.

"If this is what can make your night more comfortable, dearest, then this shall be my pleasure!" 

Faramir sat cross legged. These long conversations at night reminded him of the almost days when Boromir would sneak into his bedroom and make him laugh until they fell asleep in each other's arms, yet with Pippin it was different. At first Faramir had wondered if that complicity felt like having a younger brother. A fleeting sensation that quickly faded when he noticed the boy was a man, a friend. A friend who called him dearest with the fondest smiles. This was probably what having a true companion felt like, a best friend. A male companion like those bonds one only reads about in epic tales of adventure.

Pippin dug into his pocket to find a small satchel and a pipe he presented with a smirk. "I have some leaves left from the Shire if you wish to get acquainted with my homeland.'' 

Faramir felt the rise of his own eyebrows. He blinked a few times, settled nervously on the bed, wondering how relaxing were these kinds of leaves, or if they would make him act less than righteously. As Pippin did not wait for his approval and brought a flame to the scented leaves, he surrendered to the moment. What was he to do on his probable last night on Middle-Earth? Resting with a friend, enjoying life for a few minutes, what wrong was it? Faramir sat with his back against the wall besides Pippin and accepted the offering. 

This intimacy that had grown slowly but steadily between them was as strange as it was comfortable. A warmth that spread from his heart, when Pippin smiled or laughed, or from his cheeks when the hobbit looked at him and gave him the kind of nicknames he once thought were for lovers only. He had been wrong indeed, because friends can also use tender words, as Pippin had demonstrated. 

Faramir took a deep breath, placed the tip of the pipe between his lips and inhaled, trying to hide his inexperience in the area. Smoke filled his chest, burning his loins, and it felt like he was breathing for the first time since his father had announced his departure to Osgiliath. His loud sigh felt like the first breath of a newborn, relieving and full of unspoken terror. 

"Isn't it the best you've ever had?'' Pippin asked with a grin, leaning against his side. 

"Definitely so," Faramir nodded. 

Pippin slid his arm underneath Faramir's in a soft gesture and placed his hand on top of his wrist. Every part of him was small, Faramir noticed between deep calming breaths, but manly. His nimble calloused fingers bore the wisdom of a young man who has knowledge of the land. Hands that stole vegetables in farms and constructed elaborate mischiefs. His forearms covered in the soft fuzz of a lad whose adolescent years were behind him. 

Faramir could not help wondering if such affection between men was inappropriate or wrong. Many of his rangers built loving relationships within the depths of the forest, their sighs of passion protected by the secrecy of the trees, but at the court, in the White City, things were different. Was it unacceptable? Taboo perhaps? What would his father say? Faramir snorted, almost choking on thick smoke. Few were the actions he could do that his father wouldn't think wrong. If judgements from the patriarch couldn't be avoided then it was better to wait for them spending time with a fun handsome young man whose jokes were as relaxing as his leaves. 

Pippin had started talking about the Shire and its wonders. The hills and the rivers. The forests, the farms, the towns, the hamlets, the people, the fruits, the domesticity and parties, so far from the Ring, the War and the folly of Men like his father. Pictures taken from the magic world of a book for children.

Faramir let his mind wander, his thumb absent-mindedly brushing Pippin's thigh. He saw himself pack his belongings, leave to the stables in the middle of the night. He imagined the way Pippin would feel in front of him as they rode together towards the Shire, away from Gondor, from Mordor, from the lords of evil, Sauron and Denethor alike. They could survive in the forest, he knew how to keep Pippin safe. And when they would reach Hobbitton, Pippin would squeal with joy, call him dearest again. They would be safe and happy, far from responsibilities and fear. They would drink mead and ignore the rest of the world. 

They would, in this delightful dream that belonged to that little boy in Faramir's heart, that boy who read too many stories to forget his sad reality. Alas these were just immature dreams. The boy had grown and was now a reasonable young man whose sense of honor did not allow for such silly fantasies. When the sun would rise, Faramir would march towards his fate, to the end of his life and dreams. Therefore he paid attention to every word falling from Pippin's mouth, every chuckle, every pun. And he was mindful of the way his own stomach sometimes burned from laughing too hard, how tears of hilarity replaced bitter ones, how the way they leaned into each other replaced the lack of gentle touch from the last decades. 

Pippin was so much more than a young brother, even though they had very recently met: he was a trusted fellow, the kind Faramir had only encountered among his rangers. Unlike with Boromir, in Pippin Faramir saw a beauty, a grace, that made his heart beat in a more mature way. Furious drums he chose not to listen to, for these feelings were not reciprocated, and they did not belong to a dying man anyway. 

The pipe had long been emptied, the room filled with remnant fumes and scents from the Shire. Both friends could almost feel around them the fields and the rivers, the mud and the flowers from behind Pippin's home. 

Faramir had slouched against the wall in a particularly inelegant posture, and removed his boots, looking even more disheveled. For a handful of minutes Pippin had been silent, one of those comfortable silences, so warm, so precious, that brought peace instead of threats. When he spoke eventually, his voice was soft and his grin optimistic.

"I really appreciate our conversations, my Lord Faramir…" 

Faramir smirked with a lazy roll of the eyes. "You do not have to call me lord, Peregrin, you know that.''

Pippin shrugged, wiggled his hairy toes for a second, thoughtfully. He chose to ignore the request and repeated in a more meaningful tone, "And by appreciate, I mean I cherish them deeply." 

The fire that consumed the leaves earlier seemed to have moved to Faramir's cheeks, sending sparks under his skin, and he feared for a second that his freckles would light up with joy and embarrassment. Faced with an awkward silence, Pippin did not retreat and asked in the most innocent tone, 

"Would you allow me to stay 'til sunrise?" 

Faramir took a deep breath and only managed to hold the hobbit's gaze for a fleeting instant before he looked away with a shy chuckle. This was not a question he expected and nothing could have prepared him for that. Yet, if deep inside him still was a young lad who craved attention and love, the steward's son was reasonable and responsible. So he took upon himself to refrain Pippin's hedonistic nature.

"I… I would not, master Peregrin, engage in reprehensible activities with you tonight," he gently warned, setting his boundaries before a misunderstanding happened. "I find you the loveliest company but I am not in the appropriate set of mind." 

"I expected no less from you, my Faramir," Pippin smiled fondly, as his friend's heart missed a beat from that sweet as honey new name. "Always the voice of reason. Isn't it why I love you so?" 

His words and gentle looks, so soft, so respectful of his choices, of his personality, made Pippin almost shine with kindness to Faramir's eyes. He radiated something pure and bright. A ray of light within a dark realm. 

Pippin crossed his legs, rested his hands on his knees, before he asked, "What kind of intimacy are you comfortable with tonight?" 

Faramir rolled onto his side. Thinking about all this was painful. For what they had they could never have again anymore. And that precious night he did not want to spoil with difficulties. He wanted to pretend for a moment that all things were good and their lives would be long and happy. 

"If you stayed the night, my dearest friend,'' he dared to ask, enjoying the way words rolled on his tongue. "What would you like to do?" 

Pippin smiled and started to list in a dreamy tone, counting on his fingers as he would enumerate his favorite dishes, "I would hold hands, and rest by your side. I would squeeze you tight, keep you next to me, and oh wouldn't it feel glorious? I would run my fingers through your shiny hair until you fell asleep, and I would feel blessed." 

The words were too soft, too good for Faramir's heart whose strong beats echoed loudly in his chest. He looked down, breathless. The hobbit was himself, sincere and honest about his desires. Desires Faramir had not even admitted to himself. Promise of sweet treats he would never get to experience again. 

"You are too good to me, rocking me to sleep like a baby," he grunted, ashamed of his own weakness. His entire body burned from the need, Pippin touching him, gentle and caring, making him feel unique and important. 

Pippin shook his head with a laugh. "Absolutely not, my Faramir, everyone deserves affection, knights as well as ladies." 

'Not me' Faramir thought like a reflex, a voice he knew all too well in his head. He lowered his forehead until it brushed Pippin's thigh. 

"You pity the man who dies tomorrow," he said in a tone infected by bitterness. 

"And how would I know if I do?" Pippin shrugged, only slightly moving to place his fingertips over Faramir's nape. "I see no man who will die soon. I only know I treasure the knight in my arms who will fight and survive, and live to tell the tales of his successes." 

"You fool," Faramir muttered, trying to sound cold and serious. 

Pippin let out a sad nostalgic sigh at the word.

"I know, I know…" he whispered, then slid his fingers across Faramir's scalp, between his copper strands, making him feel so at ease the steward's son forgot how to form a proper thought, how to breathe, for a moment. 

.

When the sun rose that morning, red and carrying dark promises within its rays, Faramir was still a voluntary prisoner of Pippin's embrace. Holding and caring had been promised and the hobbit had delivered more than Faramir could ever have hoped for. He had specifically requested that no lustful activities were shared, and yet that night Faramir had realized the greatest intimacy of all was to allow Pippin to see his tears of despair and fear. He had cried on his shoulder, every kind word received as a painful reminder of all the cruel ones he had heard since the day his mother passed. He had cried until the streams dried, until he had felt so heard he could leave this world with renewed peace of heart. And during the darkest hours of the night, after every candle in the room had melted, when neither moon nor stars could pierce the heavy clouds to shine indiscrete light, their mouths had shyly found each other, Pippin's lips showing Faramir with a tender kiss that there is good in this world, and way more hope and light than Faramir could ever imagine. 

The moment he rose from the bed to get ready, already exhausted from the day to come, Faramir had to hold Pippin who jumped into his arms. 

"You will come back, I will wait for you," the boy assured in a low confident tone. "I may be a fool but I know a brave man when I see one." 

"You, my Pippin, are the best dream a man could ever have," Faramir replied, his arms full of hobbit. "I wish I could be half of the hero you see in me." 

"What I see in you is only half of a half of what your brother thought of you," Pippin nodded. "And that is the truth." 

Faramir buried his face in Pippin's neck to hide once again his feelings. The hobbit was a blessing from the gods before his demise, and he felt happy and privileged to have known him even for such a short time. When he expected it less, three words fell from his mouth, bounced against Pippin's skin. Words he thought he would once tell a fair lady. Words he had never heard before Pippin repeated them enthusiastically. 

.

"I love him…"

His entire world was fire. Pain. Loss. 

"Do you really love him, Pip' ?" 

Chaos and suffering. More than Faramir ever thought it could be.

"I do, Merry. I do! And I know he loves me too."

Mourning. Death. His men, his soldiers sent to an unfair end. 

"Don't be stupid, Pip'. He is a Lord, a Man, he does not fall in love with people like us." 

Faramir was floating in a sea of memories, drowning in the fateful river between life and death. Scenes out of nightmares flashed before his closed eyes. Fire. Death. A pyre.

"Oh, is that so? What is it about me that makes it impossible for me to be loved by a Man but you get to be loved by a shieldmaiden princess? You are living in a children lullaby!"

Echoes of his father's voice, more terrifying than ever, howling about his death, made his chest tremble. The smell of burnt wood, acrid, lingered in his nostrils. The heat a vivid memory. 

"Shhhht have some respect, you're being rude!"

And then the shouts. His own powerlessness. Pippin's shriek. The sound of hooves on the hard floor. His ultimate recollection of details before his whole world went dark as coal.

"Well, you, my dear, are being a…" 

Faramir only recognized one voice next to him the other was unknown. He struggled to open his eyes, an unbearable effort to make.

"Merry, Pippin," a deep rumbling voice scolded. "Now is not the time for these discussions. Should I have you sent back to your rooms?" 

The calm voice with a strange accent sparked what very little curiosity Faramir had left in his mind. It reflected a natural but benevolent authority, the kind of strength Gondor had not known for centuries.

"But, Aragorn, I want to be here when my… when the Captain wakes up!" Pippin protested.

Faramir fought against his own exhaustion, his eyelids blinked twice, blinding him despite the low lights. He managed to catch a glimpse of his surroundings. The Houses of Healing. He was safe. Guarded by benevolent figures. Next to the man who loved him so dearly despite his weaknesses and faults.

"Now tell me," the one named Aragorn whispered, "I thought Merry was the love of your life. Would you explain to me instead of bothering our sick steward…"

He had been through darkness. Faramir could guess his sleep had been close to endless and haunted by the effects of the Witch King's evil powers. His friends' gentle banters were healing him, their voices soothing like a balm over his mind. He exhaled softly.

"Well, it's easy," Pippin explained in his know-it-all tone that often made them all laugh. "See, I love Merry since I was a wee lad, when we were running in our pajamas to escape our mothers at night. We did everything two Hobbits can do in the Shire, from lighting fireworks after a few meads, to making love in a strawberry field. He was my first love and he will always be my love." 

Despite his exhaustion Faramir could follow the clear voice with its thick accent that pulled him out of darkness. Even though said voice did not make much sense at the time.

"My heart, however, had plenty of room for love, you know, Strider? Plenty! I might as well love one handsome hobbit from my hometown and a gorgeous Captain of the White Tower, just as I love both eating and drinking. Enjoying one does not have to exclude the other. They both bring me such great joy, it's as simple as that!" 

Faramir, who had never before been in love, found the idea particularly foreign. He was barely learning to love and be loved, by anyone, not just a suitor, and could not help thinking Pippin was blessed to be able to experience twice this intense feeling. No wonder the hobbit looked so full of joy and hope compared to other races!

"The same goes for me too," the unknown voice added in a tone even more pedantic than Pippin's. "I have always loved Pip' more than anyone else, he was my… my favourite everything, and yet as my heart grew bigger with age, I fell in love with a Rohirrim princess when we fought side by side on the battlefield and shared a tent... And she loves me too!" 

The second hobbit seemed to believe his incredible story, a tale seemingly taken from an ancient book, and the other Man in the room grunted his surprise.

Faramir managed to let out a soft groan, eyelids barely open, to seek light and company. Time had come for him to join the world of the living, he could feel it. A loud gasp welcomed him back to life and the bed creaked as Pippin climbed next to him. 

"My love!" Pippin exclaimed with all his hobbit enthusiasm, remnant fear in his voice proving the Captain had been asleep for too long. "At last you are awake!" 

Faramir wanted to speak, his voice did not come out. He took a deep breath. Gentle hands stroked his cheeks, his hair. Softness and tender touch waking every part of his still hurting face. As he eventually believed he could manage to speak, a kiss fell onto his lips, light as flowers landing on grass. A kiss that meant a thousand words, or just three, and perhaps also an "I told you so".

"You were right," Faramir croaked when soft lips left his face, after blessing his brow, his nose and cheeks as well. "I survived." 

"I knew it," Pippin assured. "I just knew…"

Faramir held the caring hands in his own trembling ones. Such warmth was worth fighting for. Having to share his first true love with another man was the least of his torments and he truly admired the two hobbits for being so free, so full of love they managed to pursue two people at once. Surely that kind of romantic adventures only happened in books, or to people with such wide hearts as Hobbits! Not to men like him.

A few minutes later however, when Faramir found the strength to look around the almost empty room of the Chambers, his gaze fell upon a young maiden, blonde and fair, who smiled at him with a fondness he instantly reciprocated. The Captain understood in a blink of her eyes that his world had been shaken by current events in more than one way. She waved at him from the bed she was sitting on, both awkward and graceful, and Faramir felt his heart grow, his feelings expand in a way he did not think possible. How would he love twice as intensely, when Pippin had been so good to him, he didn't know. The future was uncertain, only the present moment mattered. 

.

A new peaceful dawn bathed Middle-Earth with its magnificent colors, clear skies turning pink from love and hope rather than red from Mordor's evil turmoils, yet within the silence of his luxurious bedroom Faramir was scared. He had to make a life-changing choice, and that perspective terrified him more than any other task he ever had to perform. Going back to Osgiliath had been a rather easy decision to make, almost selfish in its simplicity. However this time, blind obedience was not an option. What's a man to do when his heart swells for two different souls? 

The newly named Prince of Ithilien set his cup of tea down, it had gone cold again while he thought about the travesty that was his life. When happiness at last brushed the tip of his fingers, he could already see it fly away. 

The entire realm, lords and peasants alike, expected him to wed Éowyn of Rohan, and nothing would make him happier. The lady was even smarter, wittier than the princesses he dreamt about as a child. She swirled into his life with her helmet and her sword, and her tales of killing the one Witch King who dragged Faramir into the abyss of his evil influence. 

The young Captain had been embarrassed at first to realize Éowyn had gone to such extent only to never be loved in return by Aragorn, wondering if a proper lady should express these feelings to another suitor. Once his first hesitations gone Faramir felt a renewed connection to her through her confession, for he could understand the pain of searching for someone's love and having it constantly refused. 

He was to wed her, this was the sensible, reasonable way to act as a Prince. He had duties, important responsibilities, and spending the rest of his life building a happy family with this barely tamed philly from Rohan as he playfully called her in private would be the dream of any sane man. She had been good to him. When he thought about her, he wanted to provide her with all the affection she had been denied, and all the laughter and joy her brave but too serious brother had not given her. He envisioned a wonderful life in her company. 

The other side of this shiny coin however, was moving away from Pippin, a thought that shattered Faramir's heart into hundreds of shards. Tears came to his eyes just thinking about the words he would have to say to reject him. Letting Pippin run to his fate near the Black Door had been strong a sacrifice already, but to push him away to favor a more diplomatic union? A nightmare.

Faramir had survived many battles in his life, this one however he would come back from with an incurable wound. He loved Pippin so dearly, so profoundly, the act of saying "I shall marry my lady" felt like physical violence to his lover. Yet what could he do? He was not even given a choice, marrying the hobbit was not an option. He had to comply, follow rules and protocols, settle for one half of his heart and let the other go forever. 

Faramir felt tears prickle his eyes as sad thoughts brew into his mind, bitter as his now cold tea. He was a man of honor, he would do, not what was right, but what his duty demanded. As always. As he had always done. In spite of what his heart truly desired. He would survive, at a great cost, the pain in his beloved eyes would one day cease to haunt his nightmares and his life would go on. 

As he looked outside the window of his room, Faramir saw Legolas and Gimli walking in the gardens, so in love, so free despite their differences and a spark of envy and sad anger boiled in his heart. Legolas also was a prince, why was he allowed such freedom? 

A knock on the heavy door brought him back to the present moment. Faramir shook his head and invited whomever was outside to come in. In a swirl of blonde hair lady Éowyn stormed into the room and walked closer until she could hold his hands.

"I missed you," she smiled as if they had been separated for ages. 

"I missed you too," Faramir replied, for it was the truth, despite having left her one hour ago. 

They shared a soft kiss, almost shy. Being who they were, prince and princess, noble and burdened with so many responsibilities, they both felt almost guilty to kiss before marriage, although they both had been even more intimate with their respective Hobbit lovers.

"Well," Éowyn stated as she looked around the wide bedroom. "The Hobbits and I were pondering the next few days, when we realized we had not asked for your opinion yet. What did you have in mind for us after the wedding?" 

"I…" Faramir stuttered, caught off-guard. "I shall become your husband and you shall be my bride?" 

Éowyn let out a delicate laugh. "I hope so, my love!"

The prince had to admit, nibbling his lower lip, "This is a future I had not envisioned, I cannot say I made plans, a few days ago the outcome of the War remained uncertain so…" 

"... Oh appease your heart, my friend," Éowyn explained, her hands on his waist, "I am just wondering if you wish for us and them to have separate rooms so that we can meet Merry and Pippin privately, and respect their privacy in return, or if you favored us installing two wide beds in your chambers to share between the four of us depending on our desires, and never be separated again." 

The long sentences wrapped around Faramir's mind as he tried to process their meaning. He felt the same as when he studies the science of numbers with Gandalf as a boy, confused and lost.

"Milady…" 

Éowyn kept observing the room, calculating with her fingers the available space and whether or not another bed would fit inside it. Faramir licked his dry lips. 

"We cannot… I fear we should not… is that even allowed?" 

"What should we not, my prince?" she shrugged. "I was not allowed to go to war either, and yet it was the only sensible way to win this battle. I do not care about what is allowed, I only wish for our happiness." 

Seeing Faramir's hesitations she stepped towards him, placed her palms over his chest, his quick paced heart. 

"What other choice do we have? I do not wish to let Merry go; my heart, as he says, is wide enough for you two. And I know Pippin was the first to steal your heart. I doubt you could ever stop loving him! Am I in the wrong?" 

Faramir stood there, in the center of his room, like frozen in a storm. His future bride's words were music to his ears, the sweetest song. She opened with her speech a whole new world of hope and mutual respect. A new dimension to their marriage, to his life even, giving him permission to love and be loved unconditionally. 

"I do not know then, this was not an outcome I had planned nor imagined…" he eventually whispered like a deep secret, with a wide grin that hid nothing of his feelings. "Do as you please my lady, my heart. I will support your decisions in the matter." 

Éowyn's only reply was a relieved smile as well as sparkling stars in her eyes. She who had been told for so long to behave and obey could only fall in love a bit more every time her prince handed her the reins of their life. She stole an audacious kiss from him, instead of asking for this gift, whispered sweet words in his ear then pulled him towards the corridor, far from his doubts and sad thoughts.

.

Rain had not fallen so hard upon the blessed realm of Gondor since that fateful night when Faramir had confessed his feelings to his friend, right before his departure for Osgiliath, a few months ago. Thunder shook the skies and water soaked the ground, promise of a new beginning. Life was growing and budding again within this land. The most beautiful part of that evening being that they had nowhere else to be for now, so Faramir could enjoy the sounds of the summer storm from beneath the sheets of his bed. 

On the other bed, his two blonde friends were engaged in a tickling match that resembled a form of wrestling, as sensual as it was mischievous. Their joyful laughter echoed in the large bedroom. For a second as he glanced at their embrace, Faramir wondered how he could have ever thought about being Éowyn's one and only suitor. Merry spoiled her, bringing her happiness and completion. She never looked more radiant than when she had them both by her side. 

Faramir wrapped his arms around his lover, kissed the back of his neck, his shoulder blade. Sometimes Pippin made him feel so loved and cherished he believed to be personally spoiled by the Valar. Like this delightful instant, merely a few hours ago, when Pippin had written a song just for him, his clear voice giving praises with an unbearable generosity, for which the prince had turned a bright shade of red. Pippin's love was too strong, too pure, overwhelming. His mind far from the preoccupations of the court never cared about what decorum demanded, his only limits his lovers' boundaries. 

Every instant was a party with him, every kiss a celebration of life. His embraces were decadent, creative, and within their bedroom Hobbits had taught Men much knowledge of their bodies and the games they could play. Although remained an undying shadow in his eyes, the ghosts of a war they all had to fight they were not ready for, every moment Faramir spent in his company made him feel more alive than ever. The comfort of being valued, his greatest luxury. 

"Read me another tale?" Pippin's voice implored, barely audible underneath their lovers' giggles. 

"Hmmm I already read you one for dinner," Faramir protested lazily, burying his nose in the hobbit's curls. 

Pippin shifted in his arms to face him, showed his most mischievous smile. "What about second dinner?" 

Faramir pursed his nose. "I think you're telling tales yourself, dearest. There is no such thing as second dinner." 

"With a pinch of good will there is!" Pippin assured in this pompous tone that made Faramir chuckle every time. 

They burrowed under the thick blanket to share and enjoy each other's warmth even better. Fate sometimes traveled down unexpected paths, how their souls had managed to find a common ground remained a mystery. Yet Faramir knew their bond had been strenghtened by their knowing of Denethor, a shared pain that brought them closer. 

The mere fact that Pippin had caught a glimpse of his life in Minas Tirith was a guarantee for Faramir to be treated with kindness and compassion. He knew he could let his guard's down, sleep without defiance, Pippin cared enough not to hurt him, and that was his most precious gift.

Pippin found his mouth in the dark, claimed it for a luscious kiss. His eager lips slipped and he accidentally nibbled on Faramir's, always in a hurry like a scoundrel afraid to get caught.

"Sorry, oh! I'm sorry, I'm a…" he stuttered.

Faramir could feel the tension in his lover's whole body, the guilt of not being enough. He placed his hands around the hobbit's waist and whispered, "Hush my Pippin, do not apologize to me for being yourself." 

At his words Pippin melted like snow under the first spring sunrays, relaxed and confident he would be cherished without judgement, and got closer for a tight hug that proved Faramir with the right people, the White City could be a wonderful place indeed.


	2. Appendix One : Shared Joys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I am no doctor but I know, my Faramir, that you should be in bed and not roaming the corridors like a handsome ghost." 
> 
> "You think I'm handsome," Faramir smiled, cheeks blushing like spring roses, always slightly light-headed when the hobbit gave him compliments. 
> 
> [ On the eve of the final battle, Faramir and Pippin have a 'date night' and it goes... really well. ]

Had anyone walked near the bedroom of the Captain of the White Tower that evening, they would have seen him weak still, a subtle limp at his leg, not fully healed from his battle against the Witch King, but wearing a surprisingly elegant outfit for a man in recovery. In an attempt to appear healthier and maybe a more pleasant company too, he had picked his most fancy tunic, then combed his hair that hadn't been untangled in days, only caressed by Pippin's careful hands. 

Faramir should probably have stayed at the Chambers of Healing under close surveillance but the night nurses had agreed to grant him freedom on what might be their ultimate day as free men. In the morning Aragorn would lead an army towards the Black Gate to distract the Eye of Sauron and offer Frodo and Sam more time to throw the One Ring in the fires of Mount Doom. Tomorrow would be an end, and for those who hoped, a new beginning. 

Faramir was not of those who dared to hope. He was too used to darkness to dream of ideal futures, even more when the walls of the white city turned black during the darkest hours. Tonight, however, he felt at peace, making the deliberate choice to save his fears for the morning. Tonight was for love. True love.

He had barely turned around the corner of the corridor next to his room when he stumbled over Pippin who was walking in his direction. 

"Master Peregrin! What a pleasant surprise!" 

Pippin took a step back and crossed his arms, head tilted in a funny way. 

"I am no doctor but I know, my Faramir, that you should be in bed and not roaming the corridors like a handsome ghost." 

"You think I'm handsome," Faramir smiled, cheeks blushing like spring roses, always slightly light-headed when the hobbit gave him compliments. 

Pippin shook his head with a frown. He gestured towards his dear friend's room, looking concerned and commanding. "Go to your room and get enough rest, light of my life, or I will have to tell Gandalf about your nightly adventures." 

"Oh you would not!" Faramir exclaimed, both shocked and amused. 

Pippin pointed his index with a threatening eyebrow raised. "To bed, now!" 

Faramir nodded and asked without moving. "Will you come with me?" 

In an instant he realized how inappropriate his words could sound and Faramir blushed, stammered, hands curling with embarrassment, "I-- my friend, I mean… I was looking for you… did you want to spend this evening with Merry or… because if you do not… I thought we could share a moment and a nice meal."

"Well, you did not have to come to me as I was walking towards you already!" Pippin explained with a grin. "Merry and I agreed we would bid our farewells on the battlefield tomorrow, he will be by his lady's side tonight, and I decided to come care for you."

Such words appeased Faramir's heart for he was glad to know his feelings were shared. This night he did not want to spend alone.

"You… you do not have to care for me my friend, I am feeling well. Not enough to fight in battle but more than needed to give you love and affection." 

"They shall be well received," Pippin replied before he took Faramir's hand to lead him towards his room. The Captain had to admit he enjoyed when his friend lead the way, knowing at least he could follow someone without fear.

.

Faramir had arranged for a cheese and fruit platter to keep them satiated, determined to offer Pippin a delightful evening before his departure. The young hobbit had been so good to him on the eve of his decisive battle, so gentle and kind, Faramir wanted to return his attentions and more. 

They settled together on a large chair Aragorn himself had brought when he had realized the Captain would not spend most of his recovery time alone. It served for Éowyn often, who could talk to Faramir for as many hours as he enjoyed listening to her soft voice and strong opinions. For Merry and Pippin as well, both hobbits fit perfectly together on the wide seat and shared stories from their homeland to distract the bored Man. 

In Faramir's company the chair was slightly too narrow and Pippin had to sit across his suitor's lap, a posture they both enjoyed immensely. It felt warm, intimate, and the weight of the hobbit grounded Faramir, preventing his thoughts from drifting away to the next day. Pippin helped himself to a cup of wine and some fruits, always ready to enjoy life and its pleasures,yet a shadow remained over his brow.

"Are you afraid… about the morning?" Pippin asked after a few bites, with hesitation in his voice. 

Faramir playfully stole a grape from him and smiled, "No, I am not." 

The answer seemed to puzzle Pippin who tilted his head so Faramir explained, gently stroking his lover's hand with his thumb in a comforting touch. 

"Here is how I imagine the close future, my dear. Either the attempt is a failure and this will be the end of the world as we know it, so in a way I will not live to mourn your passing, a prospect I would rather not imagine at the moment… or the plan leads us to victory and you shall return to my arms soon enough, a hero I shall love."

Pippin smiled at the thought. He raised his arm to feed his Captain another grape. 

"I cannot predict the future but I trust Aragorn and his decisions, he is a good leader," Faramir nodded in conclusion. 

Oh, a deep terror laid under the calm surface of his being but he would not listen to it, not tonight. He had lived too many heart shattering farewells, he knew tonight he valued celebrating life instead of giving in to death. One moment of this sweet love, even too brief, was better than a lifetime alone.

Pippin hesitated for a second, less confident in his abilities or his fate. "But what if… what if I, of all men, did not come back?" 

"You?" Faramir laughed, pressing his fingers around the hobbit's shoulder, way softer than he would cheer a friend. "You, one of the bravest men I ever laid eyes on? I know the orcs are having nightmares of you tonight, my love, they do not want to meet the blade of Peregrin Took the third! They scold their impudent children by threatening them to send you to punish them, didn't you know?"

This time Pippin bursted out laughing, his clear voice joined by Faramir's deeper tone, as if his anxious bubble had vanished. He rested his cheek over Faramir's chest, his laughter echoing within the captain's frame. 

The tension in his shoulders was gone now and the hobbit seemed ready to fully enjoy the evening once more. 

Faramir picked a slice of pear from the platter and offered it to his friend. When Pippin's lips brushed his fingertips, warmth spread all over his hand, his arm, straight to his heart and cheeks. He hid his embarrassment behind a smile he hoped charming, loving the sheer sensuality with which Pippin savored his meal. The lad was always so happy with the simplest pleasures in life! A lesson in optimism and hope. 

The intimacy they shared was novelty to Faramir whose only hugs came from his older brother. Embracing the man he loved was different in the best possible way. He wanted Pippin to forget his fears tonight and for him to be comfortable. In an urge to make him feel even more at ease, Faramir could not refrain his instinct to dive forward and plant a soft kiss onto Pippin's lips.

The hobbit tilted his head to catch more of him, a warm delightful kiss that tasted of fruits and deep feelings. Faramir let his hand slide up his friend's torso, to his shoulder, his neck, until he could cup the back of his head to pull him closer, press their lips even more. Pippin made a strangled noise that could have been worrying had it not been filled with happiness. 

"I… I need a moment," Pippin panted against his mouth when they barely broke the kiss. "I am sorry, but if you go on in such manner, I might have trouble remaining decent." 

Faramir chuckled, "That is an endearing way to express it, my love. Why is that so?" 

Pippin gave him a cheeky grin that did not hide the sweet torments of his mind and body in this very instant. 

"I might be a little heated, I need a moment to get the fever down," he smiled, always so open about his wants and needs, a sincerity that made Faramir love him even more, if such extent was possible. 

Faramir took a second to choose his wording well and nodded, "Tell me… why would you have to let the fever down?"

Pippin shrugged, "Well I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable, my noble Captain!"

Faramir looked down with a smirk. Pippin was smart and witty, but he was a man first and foremost, a man in love who could be blinded by his arousal just enough not to read cues. Faramir didn't notice he was biting his own bottom lip until he saw Pippin's lustful gaze towards his face. The hobbit shifted in his lap, moving weight over his thighs creating turmoils down his lover's stomach, then slowly got up to his feet.

"Do you feel feverish too?" Pippin asked incredulously, surprised that his so sweet, so reasonable close friend would demonstrate such indecent intents. 

Faramir only replied with a nod, and tilted his head back to look in the eyes of the hobbit who, all raised up on the chair, stood taller than him. Now his breath was short, his face flustered, and his breeches too tight. Pippin lowered himself until their lips almost touched again, making Faramir ache for a kiss, a touch, anything, then swiftly jumped from the chair with a mischievous grin.

"I shall mandate a nurse then, you look a little red in the cheeks!" he giggled, amused by his own joke. 

Faramir let out a loud gasp at the sudden removal of his love over him. When did the room turn so cold absent Pippin's touch? He shook his head, laughing, then jolted from the chair as well to try and catch the naughty hobbit. "Don't you think about it!" 

Pippin started to bounce left and right not to be caught, but did not actively try to escape his suitor's embrace, and in no more than an instant they fell onto Faramir's bed, embraced, almost entwined, laughing through their gentle banter. They rolled together, finding ways to get close despite their differences. 

Faramir swiftly sat up not to get too heavy over his lover's smaller frame and Pippin got up, once more hovering above him.

"You pity the man who goes to battle tomorrow," he said, almost playfully, borrowing Faramir's words from their first night as companions. 

Faramir managed to hold his gaze for a few seconds before he replied in a lower tone he didn't know in himself, "No, I desire him." 

Pippin seemed surprised and enthralled by his boldness. The hobbit dove unto him like a bird upon its prey and demonstrated his gratitude with a kiss that felt much more mature, the kind of kiss that had their tongues wandering and their voices echo in low purrs. 

Faramir fell back against the mattress, held down by the weight of his impatient lover who straddled him. Firm thighs secured him in place, tamed the involuntary tremors of his hips, like a nervous horse. He ran his hands all over his rider's form, his small but solid muscles, his manly figure. The strength Pippin had gained these last few weeks contrasted with the softness of his curves. 

"My Man, my Captain…" Pippin chanted like a prayer as he covered Faramir's face with kisses. "My Faramir, my love…" 

His hands moved to Faramir's embroided tunic and he smiled.

"Did you wear this elegant outfit to seduce me?"

"I have a strong feeling that it worked," Faramir chuckled. "Will I still be attractive to you once it's removed?" 

''Oh, I'll be the judge of that, my pretty Lord!'' Pippin exclaimed with a grin, looking almost hungrily at the few revealed skin spots around said tunic.

After another round of devouring kisses that left them both breathless and heated, Pippin seemed to calm down for a second. He carefully leaned in, brushed his warm lips over the soft beard on Faramir's cheeks and chin, delicate and gentle. For a few minutes time stretched out. Under Pippin's unbearably tender caresses the night promised to last for eternity. His fingertips then traced every freckle on Faramir's face, taking his time, showing an extraordinary patience for someone as petulant as him. The Captain could not look away from the focused face above him. Pippin studied him with intent, trying perhaps to keep a memory of the sight he should return to after the battle. Under his hands and his gaze, Faramir felt precious, revered.

After a moment of these sweet ministrations, Pippin seemed to wake up from his loving transe and asked once again, "Are you certain, my love, that you do not feel too weary? I do not wish to hurt you."

"I trust you not to hurt me, keep this worry off your brow, I feel much better and…" 

And Faramir knew better than to miss another opportunity. He had refused such pleasures on their first night but he would not let their second farewell be sad and devastating. He wanted to know Pippin in more than a way. He needed more than what his shyness had allowed before. To let his knight know how cherished he was, and how loved he would be when they would be able to lay together once again.

Unable to form appropriate words to express the complexity of his emotions, Faramir ran his fingers in Pippin's hair then tilted his head to kiss him. A soft moan showed how highly appreciated the initiative was. 

What happened next, between the borders of this bed that had only known fear and sadness, would remain forever engraved in both their memories, the most sensual goodbye. Faramir had never thought crawling against each other, skin to skin, naked and exposed, would feel so delightful. Their relationship was stronger, their connexion deeper now, for they only took this step once they both felt at ease. 

Sometimes within the loneliness of his bedroom Faramir played this adolescent game with himself, looking for a release that barely alleviated his pains and fears. In Pippin's arms tonight everything felt different. Selfish secrets were now shared joys, the destination way less important than the journey. Never had teasing and frustration felt so regal. Panting in each other's mouths and holding hands, opening their thighs as well as their hearts, making the absolute best of the trust placed into their hands. One could have palms that touched, stroked, jerked, and their lips full of praises and affection. Or their fingers locked and entwined like young grooms at their wedding, while their mouths were too full to even mutter a word. Yet every touch, every indecent kiss, every embrace whether it was passionate or more tender only meant the same "I love you" sung in unison, until they reached the top of their luscious climb then passion faded into pure, undiluted love. 

The following embrace felt like a wedding, the sacred union of two souls. Close as could be, arms holding, panting sighs heavying their chests. A taste of pure happiness. 

No more than ten minutes after they lost their breath in a feverish ecstasy, as they were resting in each other's arms, Faramir, who struggled against sleep not to miss a minute with the love of his life, felt sneaky hands venture down his torso and waist in search for treasure chests and secret valleys. He lazily opened an eye to see Pippin's admiring gaze over his form. 

"Are you not satiated, hobbit of my heart?" he grumbled. 

Pippin curled his fingers to softly dig into the flesh of his thigh, making Faramir tense with envy.

"What about second lovemaking?" 

Faramir could not hold Pippin's amused look and covered his face with his arm, chuckling, "You are inventing these as you speak, you scoundrel! Let a Man rest for a moment, would you?" 

Crawling closer to let his body search for his Captain's warmth, Pippin wrapped his limbs all over Faramir's torso and whispered, "How could I not try to get another taste when you are so delicious?"

The way Pippin talked implied a rather literal meaning to his words, not some embarrassing metaphor for love, which made Faramir blush darker. He wiggled without even trying to escape Pippin's hold, then giggled, "The nurses would disagree with me engaging once more in such intense activities!"

"Oh? Look who cares a lot about nurses' opinions all of a sudden!" Pippin laughed, soon joined by his lover. 

He took a breath then asked in a more serious tone, "My Faramir is that a no? Say the word and I shall stop pestering you."

"It's a cry for help, my love, let me recover from your assaults first," Faramir assured with a grin. He tucked Pippin against his chest, pulled him close to keep him in place like the Rangers did during cold winter nights, despite the warmth their embraces had created in the room. His hug allowed him a few minutes of peaceful silence, somehow even more relaxing than sleep.

After a moment, a pleasant break and a snack, Faramir eventually found the strength to surrender again, when Pippin came back to bed with a jar of honey and a handful of bad ideas. He allowed himself to forget the morrow, their inescapable fate, too busy with love, affection, and sensual adventures making him feel more appreciated and confident than he had ever been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have read this second chapter, or first appendix, and enjoyed it, you may thank AO3 user Bakabun for their lovely encouragement that motivated me to finish beta-ing this part!


End file.
